Cruikshank, George, 1792-1878; Illustration of books -- Great Britain -- 19th century; Watercolor painting, British
There was a shed in a field he passed, that offered shelter for the
night. Before the door, were three tall poplar trees, which made
it very dark within; and the wind moaned through them with a dismal
wail. He _could not_ walk on, till daylight came again; and here he
stretched himself close to the wall--to undergo new torture.
For now, a vision came before him, as constant and more terrible
than that from which he had escaped. Those widely staring eyes, so
lustreless and so glassy, that he had better borne to see them than
think upon them, appeared in the midst of the darkness: light in
themselves, but giving light to nothing. There were but two, but
they were everywhere. If he shut out the sight, there came the
room with every well-known object--some, indeed, that he would have
forgotten, if he had gone over its contents from memory--each in its
accustomed place. The body was in _its_ place, and its eyes were as
he saw them when he stole away. He got up, and rushed into the field
without. The figure was behind him. He re-entered the shed, and
shrunk down once more. The eyes were there, before he had laid
himself along.
And here he remained in such terror as none but he can know,
trembling in every limb, and the cold sweat starting from every
pore, when suddenly there arose upon the night-wind the noise
of distant shouting, and the roar of voices mingled in alarm and
wonder. Any sound of men in that lonely place, even though it
conveyed a real cause of alarm, was something to him. He regained
his strength and energy at the prospect of personal danger; and
springing to his feet, rushed into the open air.
The broad sky seemed on fire. Rising into the air with showers
of sparks, and rolling one above the other, were sheets of flame,
lighting the atmosphere for miles round, and driving clouds of
smoke in the direction where he stood. The shouts grew louder as new
voices swelled the roar, and he could hear the cry of Fire! mingled
with the ringing of an alarm-bell, the fall of heavy bodies, and the
crackling of flames as they twined round some new obstacle, and shot
aloft as though refreshed by food. The noise increased as he looked.
There were people there--men and women--light, bustle. It was like
new life to him. He darted onward--straight, headlong--dashing
through brier and brake, and leaping gate and fence as madly as his
dog, who careered with loud and sounding bark before him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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